n urging on men who ought to have
known better. He was strongly tempted to run for it, but a sense of duty
prevailed, and he stayed there dashing about in a futile effort to speed
matters up. He shouted, he shrieked, he swore, he has a dim recollection
of even kicking at his men in the effort to get on out of the terrible
danger zone. But perhaps to his overwrought nerves the delay seemed
longer than perhaps it really was, or perhaps force of numbers from
behind succeeded where he had failed; anyhow, he got his Platoon into
safety, and only sustained the loss of five or six men.

His Platoon Sergeant behaved with an intrepid bravery that gave him a
moral right to the Victoria Cross. He stayed in the fire-swept area to
carry two wounded men into safety, and tended several others as they
lay. He received no recognition--but those who were near him will never
forget.

The bank reached, safety was achieved for the moment, at any rate. They
pushed on for another half-mile or so, and were then halted under cover
of the bank. They had not long to wait before the purpose of the whole
manoeuvre was revealed to them. In their capacity of Local Reserve
they had been hurried to the point of the line where the next attack in
force was expected.

The whole thing was ridiculous in its mechanical exactitude. In about
five minutes the artillery bombardment died down. Hard upon its heels
arose a most lively rifle-fire, which showed clearly enough that the
preparatory bombardment was over, and the real attack about to begin.
Higher and higher rose the note struck by the rifle-fire, as the contest
thickened. Never had they heard such intensity of concentration before.
Now up, now down, it rocked on in one sweeping, continuous note for
nearly half-an-hour. Then it died down, almost to silence. The attack
had failed, and the Local Reserve would not be needed.

It does not require much imagination to picture the state of mind of the
men in reserve--cowering behind the bank. They could almost see the
whole thing--the grey dots crawling over the crest of the hill, the
shots that announced their detection, the uprising of them in a solid
mass, sweeping towards the trenches; the withering fire, reaping in its
victims like a scythe. They were wondering every second of the time,
"How far have the Germans got? Have they pushed us out?" But no order
came to advance to re-capture the trenches, so they presumed all was
well.

As the crossing of t